My sincerest thanks to everyone who has been reading my work these last few years. Without you, the little blog would not have become so big, and this series would not have been possible. I look forward to what the future holds and what the next adventure will bring.

I’ve just returned from my second season in the Antarctic where a small team of us went down to go SCUBA diving in a permanently ice-covered lake. We didn’t have internet access during our time there, but now that I’m back I will be posting regular updates. (spoiler alert: I didn’t die this season)

But it’s with added enthusiasm that I mention that my first series of posts won’t appear here: for this season my writing has been picked up by the New York Time’s Scientist at Work blog. I’ll be writing about 6 posts for them, and will be sure to put those links here as they come out. Once that series has come to a close, check back for added material and extra videos as they come out later.

I have seen the ravages of war. I have felt terror from the faceless masses approaching, heard the war machines’ endless drone, suffered at the hands of a million unnamed torturers. I know fear.

My energy and my spirits have been drained by this endless battle. My limited defenses have resulted in my body bearing an untold price. A thousand needles have pierced my flesh and emptied my blood by the thimbleful. The enemy has weakened my mind and crushed my soul.

But I am not alone in this conflict. All around me my comrades endure the same agonies as I. I watch as the women and children hide themselves from the onslaught while the men take arms against the hordes. But their brave actions are fruitless – they too will meet their end in this field: each a forgotten soldier, each a victim to incalculable horrors. They shall fall as I shall fall. Except death will not come slowly. We shall endure this pain, endure these ghastly wounds, and suffer with the knowledge that nothing will soothe our searing flesh.

War is hell.

The women and children try to protect themselves from the onslaught.

Meanwhile, my fellow comrade screams as the masses attack.

He maneuvers to evade them.

But it’s to no avail. He falls in defeat, another victim to another unjust war.

It’s the dirty, dark little secret as to why most people are here. Interest in the Arctic has come and gone in waves over the decades as the price of natural resources rises and falls, and right now there is a major resurgence. Despite the economic downturn of ’08, prices for coal, natural gas, and oil have rebounded to a point that makes it feasible to extract them from the Arctic. As I walk around doing my daily work I can see that this place is bleeding resources: streams expose 20-meter coal beds, high-grade iron ore is pouring out of the hills. There’s an unreal abundance of expensive things that humans like and it’s all just sitting here at the surface. That doesn’t mean that it’s easy to get to.

Mining and operations in the north face a number of difficulties not found down south like permafrost, extreme seasonality, and a lack of facilities. But the key inhibiting factor for development is isolation, which can be broken down into two parts: distance and sea ice. Distance is something that can’t change – it will still be a damn long way to the mainland no matter what happens. Sea ice is another story. After a global minimum in sea ice extent in 2007, each successive year has resulted in more of the Arctic Ocean remaining ice-free for longer. This means that sea transport (and the Northwest passage) is now becoming very much a reality for industry. The only way to make a profit from coal in the Arctic is as a bulk commodity – massive extraction and a near continuous chain of shipments running from north to south during the ice-free summer months. While coal is much cheaper to mine down south, the Canadian Arctic may have one of the largest coal beds in all of North America. Over my last three seasons here I’ve seen many exploration teams with maps dividing up the islands I feel so affectionately for. They head into the field searching for their rocks and generally come back quite successful. While they’re usually all very nice people, I can’t help but inwardly wish them failure in their search.

Found it.

My distaste for mining in this environment comes from knowing how vulnerable these ecosystems are to the slightest disturbance. No development here would be impact-free and any amount of damage would likely be permanent. When 80-year old trees here are as thick as my thumb or a single tractor trail lasts for over 40 years the idea that this ecosystem could recover from an environmental disaster is laughable. Growth is slow and life here is hard. The ecosystems here don’t possess the same resiliency as those down south, as sluggish rates of growth and the short summer season limit how much recovery can happen in any given year. I even feel bad when I leave deep footprints. Industry proponents and environmentalists bicker back and forth about the scale of environmental damage that is guaranteed to come. While it’s not likely that the two sides will ever agree on environmental principles, perhaps those that want to save the Arctic should try arguing a different point: economics.

Much like how oil extraction in the Canadian Tar Sands is not profitable when market prices are less than $60/barrel, the same economic danger rests on the development of the true north. Booms and busts have happened here in past decades and (most) everyone is aware that things could shut down again at the drop of a hat. Relics of old, half-finished projects litter the tundra – roads that connect nothing, half-constructed buildings, and bridges to nowhere. This is what makes it hard to predict how serious development is up here. Ignoring the ridiculous hot air about Canadian sovereignty crap coming out of Ottawa, the only real interest is economic development. This expansion is a large gamble as everything that happens here will be more reliant on high commodity prices than the rest of the world. And even if the boom of the Arctic finally happens, can we call it a success?

This was a question posed at a panel discussion on resource development at the International Polar Year conference in Montreal this April. There were two industry representatives, two scientists, and an aboriginal community leader (the mayor of Barrow, Alaska). After two hours of veiled words and empty phrases it was time for audience questions. A listener stood up and asked the mayor of Barrow, “Let’s say the oil industry meets all the safety standards, contributes what you’re asking for towards community development and employment, and there’s minimal damage to the environment – is this even a future you want?” The mayor responded, “I’m not sure.”

People live by the motto “not in my backyard”. Even though it may seem empty and desolate, I can guarantee you that the Arctic is still someone’s backyard. I can only hope that the coming economic moves are done with restraint.

I had intended on writing a post about the muskox that have been roaming around my sites, but after watching a pretty epic hunt go down tonight I decided to do a second post about wolves.

I was sitting in the station identifying some plants I collected today when I heard some very fast footsteps kicking up gravel. I looked out the window to see an arctic hare sprinting like a bat out of hell as a very large and very hungry wolf ran quickly after it. Normally the wolves around here aren’t very successful at catching hares (whereas the foxes seem to have a bit more talent), so I watched the chase with passing interest. These happen a lot here. What this meant is that I didn’t have the foresight to grab my camera for what turned out to be a bloody victory for the wolf.

What they look like before: cute, fluffy, delicious.

After a few spins around the building the wolf finally landed his hare, grabbing it violently in its jaws, and quickly dismembering it before I had the chance to react. With the chase over the wolf quickly went to skinning its dinner and I saw this as my chance to run out and grab a few shots. Here is the aftermath of the arctic food chain at work.

I’d never seen a wolf before. Never in the south, and never in the Arctic. I’ve been eagerly hoping to see one ever since I was a small child. So it was with great joy and overly confident enthusiasm that I saw and photographed the wolves of Eureka this week.

This area is famous for having a number of dens nearby but for the last several years I’ve always missed them. A few days ago I was out stacking empty fuel barrels when I saw three white flashes dart across my field of vision. Attracted by the noise, the three wolves and come to inspect the new local noisemaker. They approached cautiously, warily, but once it became apparent that I wasn’t going to eat them they comfortably settled in, sat down, and stared at me.

Wolves can cross between islands by walking along the sea ice.

Other stations in the Arctic sometimes have problems with their wolves. Out there, the local packs have been fed by humans for a number years and have become accustomed to receiving food. So when someone walks outside and they don’t have food, the wolves bite, and the human spends the next several days getting rabies injections in their ass. In Eureka, there’s been little to no feeding of the wolves (at least by official accounts). This means our resident population acts less like spoiled dogs and more like wild animals. The wolves I mean.

Their long white winter coats get a bit haggard in spring.

And the thing is, they look so damn similar to dogs that I tried to treat them the same way. With the three wolves watching me, I tried to see how they’d react to different things I did. Instinctively I whistled out to try and grab their attention. No response. After three more tries the guy I was stacking barrels with decided to educate me. It turns out that the wolves tune out, or at least don’t care, about human sounds. But the moment you create a sound that they know from their natural environment, like dragging a stick across the gravel, their ears prick up and you have their full attention.

In Eureka there have been no historical (or at least modern day) records of people being attacked by wolves. Though I don’t think I’ll feel totally confident if the pack decides to visit me while I’m out working.

Arctic wolves stay in the north throughout the long winter season. Tough puppies.

I’ve arrived at my final destination. After an incredible 18 hours of plane flights, all within Canada, I’ve unloaded and unpacked at the Eureka Weather Station on Ellesmere Island, Nunavut. At 80°N, it’s a land of blazing 24-hour sunlight, extreme dryness, and unpredictable weather.

Ellesmere Island is the northernmost island of Canada, and indeed all of North America. It’s quite a large thing and sits comfortably as the 10th largest island in the world. Eureka is a “small” weather station at the central far western edge of the island. It’s bounded to the south by a very cold fjord, and has some dramatic mountain ranges surrounding the horizons. The weather station is civilian run by Environment Canada and employs a staff of 8 people who stay year round to do a variety of duties and needs. There’s a senior officer in charge, a cook, a handy, a heavy equipment operator, a mechanic, and three weather technicians. This small staff keeps the station running throughout the polar winter and is efficient enough to accommodate a bustling summer population of up to 40 visitors. It’s a cozy group.

The station is well equipped to handle any and all events. There’s storeroom after storeroom of backups for backups, spare toilets, 10,000 napkins, 40 cases of laundry detergent, and even a box of vintage German porn on VHS for those lonely winter nights. There’s a mechanic’s workshop with lifters and loaders, sandblasting machines, and 3-foot wrenches. Everything. The guys and gals that run the station can fix anything that can be brought up, like trucks or tractors or sewage systems. The main building of the station consists of a galley, an opulent lounge, a small gym, and private rooms for the station staff. Even the transient visitors have it pretty damn nice in communal rooms. It’s certainly not the harsh situation you might imagine for the High Arctic. But all these facilities don’t come cheap. To stay here is $400/night for a bed, and an additional $160 for food for the day. Luckily I’m on a grant that provides me free accommodation, food, and flights for my time here. Otherwise my 45-day stay would cost around $28,000 for the station residence and a further $10,000 for flights (thank you Environment Canada). It’s mind-blowingly expensive to do anything up here.

Roughing it.

4-Star accommodation.

There’s even a greenhouse.

In addition to the main facilities of Eureka there’s a nearby military station about 1.5km up a dirt road to the airstrip. The airstrip is a grated gravel runway that’s big enough to provide landing space for some large military aircraft. As for the army, these boys are up here for only 6 weeks during the summer in order to assert Canada’s “Northern Sovereignty” (the Arctic is still being colonized, despite what you may think of as set national boundaries. More on this in another post). They’re generally a pretty friendly bunch and a nice change of face for some fresh conversation. I remember the first time I saw the base a few years ago: the boys had taken off one of the outside doors and made a ping pong table out of it while they blasted rock music on the loud speaker. It’s sort of like Stripes meets Animal House.

The international airport.

Hey look, Canada has a military.

Now that I’m here I suppose I should get to work. The one problem is that I’ve shown up two weeks too early. The snow has just melted and the land is 100% mud. The streams have become rivers and overland travel is nearly impossible. The amount of late drainage this year is due to a later-than-usual snowmelt and has caused a few landslides that have washed out the station’s dirt roads. Nothing’s in bloom and I can’t walk anywhere. This is the muddy season.